


Cats Can't Dance (or Two Twi'leks and a Cathar Walk into a Bar)

by SifaShep



Series: The Pirate and the Inquisitor [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SifaShep/pseuds/SifaShep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Characters: Tavor (SW), Crizri (SI), Vette, Pierce, Andronikos, Xalek, Broonmark, Jaesa Willisam (mentioned) Quinn (mentioned), Ashara (mentioned), Talos (mentioned)</p><p>Tavor surprises everyone with his moves. Never call Tavor ‘a scaredy cat’. Never anger an overprotective Kaleesh. This is told from Tavor's POV. He's my Cathar Sith Warrior and one of Crizri's best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cats Can't Dance (or Two Twi'leks and a Cathar Walk into a Bar)

Tavor sat back in his seat and watched the two Twi'leks on the dance floor. He grinned as Vette and Crizri worked their way across the cantina. Heads turned as the Sith and the obviously-not Sith laughed and traded remarks as they approached the bar.

He was so grateful that Criz and Vette got along so well. Vette had lost her mother and disagreed with her sister. Criz helped ease that pain–or at least, helped her forget it. That was Criz for you, and Tavor rather envied that kind of empathy. Force knew _he_ didn’t have it.

“I take back whatever I said about Lord Crizri, M'lord. She knows how to work a crowd.”

Tavor snorted into his Corellian brandy. He’d dressed for comfort, not intimidation, and it felt strange not wearing his elegant robes. His only indulgence was his lightsaber at his belt.

“What did I tell you, Pierce? Don’t ever underestimate Lord Crizri. I did that only once.”

“I guess she handed your head back to you on a platter?” The burly soldier’s smile showed teeth as he opened yet another can of Ziostian beer. Tavor didn’t know how Pierce liked the stuff; to him, it tasted worse than engine oil.

“Worse. She forced savelberry sorbet down my throat and I ended up in medbay for a week.”

Pierce shuddered. “Urgh. That stuff’s nasty.”

There were noises of disagreement from the white-furred Talz on the other side of the table. Tavor chuckled and took another pull of his brandy. Now the Corellians really knew how to make a good beverage.

“You might like it frozen, Broonmark, but I think I’ll pass. That stuff doesn’t agree with my system, but Crizri insists I try it anyway. I’d rather eat a womprat burrito first. Without antacids.”

Andronikos Revel flopped on the chair next to Broonmark. “Okay, who’s talkin’ about womprat burritos? You tryin’ to kill us?”

Pierce shrugged. “Not me.”

Tavor poured Andronikos a shot of brandy and slid it down the table. The pirate caught it with one hand, saluted the Cathar, and knocked it back with one shot. Andronikos gave the glass a look of respect.

“Must be a good vintage. Don’t think I’ve had this one.”

“The barkeep said it was from Wyster’s Brewery in Coronet City. Sound familiar to you?”

“It’s from Wyster’s? Damn, what else is that guy hidin’? I couldn’t afford that stuff even if I hijacked a Republic cruiser. Not that I haven’t tried.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you, Andronikos.” Tavor refilled their glasses, and they clinked theirs together in a toast before draining theirs.

Tavor scanned the rest of the cantina. In an isolated booth near the door, he located Xalek, Crizri’s Kaleesh apprentice. The man simply watched the crowd, a still-full glass of bloodwine in his hand. An inebriated Human approached Crizri and tried to make small talk with her. Xalek simply glared at the man’s back, and the interloper stumbled away as if pushed.

Tavor mused. _He’s quite protective of his Master, I noticed. I wonder if Criz is aware of that. Jaesa’s similar, but she’s a lot more vocal about it._

A group of Rodians entered the cantina, buzzing about the latest Huttball match. They walked through the crowd to a doorway in the back. Tavor raised his eyebrows. _The Rodians have a private party? That’s new. They must be rolling in stolen credits._

The house band struck up another obnoxious tune. Vette’s lekku bounced with the beat and she pulled Criz back onto the dance floor. The two Twi'leks threw themselves into the music with reckless abandon. Tavor sighed and shook his head.

“Can’t dance?” Andronikos asked.

“Not can’t. Won’t. Not to _that_.”

“What, you a scaredy cat?”

Tavor rolled his eyes at the old joke. “Trust me. You’d much rather see Captain Quinn on the dance floor right now than me.”

Pierce snorted into his drink again. Andronikos laughed and asked, “Where the hell _is_ Quinn? I don’t see Ashara either. I know Talos is at that Reclamation meetin’–”

Broonmark crooned something and Tavor translated, “He’s checking the Imperial census for errors. It’s his way of relaxation. Ashara’s not feeling well, so she’s asleep on Criz’s Fury.”

“He’s what? You weren’t kidding when you said he’s a stick in the mud, Pierce.”

Tavor shook his head and felt like he needed to defend his executive officer. “Quinn has his own methods. Odd, but that’s him. Don’t comment, Pierce…I don’t berate you for half of what you do in your off time.”

Pierce closed his mouth with a grunt. He knew better than to ruin Tavor’s good mood. That had happened once before, and he’d spent a long night stuck in the airlock with the warning light blinking, and Tavor’s hand on the controls. Tavor had been merciful that time.

Crizri sauntered over to the table. “You guys are lazy. C'mon, Tavor, up you get! You aren’t sitting this one out.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No. kriffing. way. I don’t dance.”

“I’ve seen you fight. You’re not _that_ ungraceful. C'mon, scaredy cat. Show us your moves.”

“Look, that’s the second time someone’s called me that, and I’m going to take the head off the third person who says it.” He huffed and got to his feet. Sometimes it was better not to argue with a drunk Twi'lek, especially one who threw lightning.

Criz all but dragged him to the center of the dance floor. She immediately launched into a sultry shashay that caught the eye of every male being within a two-meter radius. Tavor grinned and pulled her into a turn, then dipped her low towards the floor.

He heard whistles and catcalls from Andronikos and Pierce, and felt invisible daggers at his back from Xalek. He smirked; the Kaleesh needed to relax a moment. Not all situations resulted in death and dismemberment.

Everyone gave the two Sith–and the one odd Twi'lek–a wide berth. The band stepped up the beat and the odd trio proceeded to show the cantina that Korriban taught more than just tukata hunting. The whistles of appreciations started in earnest, then claps and cheers. Vette grinned and pulled other reluctant volunteers onto the dance floor. She turned and stuck her tongue out at Pierce, who saluted her with his beer.

Finally, the medley came to an end, and the trio returned to the table. A smiling waitress handed out glasses of Ithorian whiskey. “On the house, orders from the boss,” she said cheerfully and scurried away. Tavor swore she jiggled at him a lot more than necessary.

“'Can’t dance’ my cute bottom,” Criz laughed. “Tavor, you cheeky feline, you. We oughta drop by more cantinas in our off time. We could make a killing.”

“Hopefully, not literally,” Vette piped up, as she sipped at her whiskey.

He shrugged goodnaturedly. “First rule of combat…have your enemy underestimate your abilities. I won’t make it on ‘Imperial Idol’, but I can hold my own, I suppose.”

Criz raised her glass in a toast, and Tavor clinked glasses with her. “I’ll be your partner anytime.”


End file.
